


The World at His Feet

by hornedqueen



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftercare, Bukkake, Chained to the Foot of the Throne, Collars, Forced Orgasm, Intimacy, Loyalty, M/M, Rapist is in Love with Victim, Religious rape, Ritual Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:21:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25024606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hornedqueen/pseuds/hornedqueen
Summary: Ashur, victorious in every battle, has conquered half the world for his king. And he was rewarded, every time, in the same way; brought to the foot of the throne and chained there, for the king to do with as he wished.
Relationships: King/Loyal General
Comments: 17
Kudos: 134
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	The World at His Feet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [impilii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/impilii/gifts).



When there was nothing left of the city to conquer, her walls broken and her beautiful gardens burned down to the water, Ashur turned his armies for home.

They were glutted with wine and lapis and slaves, a slow-moving snake of an army where earlier that season he had marched out with lean, lion-eyed soldiers hungry for battle. But Ashur did not urge his men to greater speed. Secretly, in his heart, Ashur was in no hurry to return home.

But home approached regardless, first a distant smudge on the horizon, and then as a clear silhouette against the eggshell sky, and then recognizably, unmistakably, as Ikun-Nar, city of cities. They marched through the streets with the people dancing around then, throwing flowers. Children played games of running among the slave wagons, the donkeys that pulled them snorting impatiently at their antics, and beguilingly draped girls from the temples approached his soldiers with flagons of wine and invitations to worship. Ashur rode at their head. His horse's hooves had not been permitted to touch bare earth since they had entered the city; the banners of his enemies formed a silken path leading directly to the palace.

The king was waiting there. He wore the gods' colors, permitted only to the divinity and their kin, and his hair was in many braids. The rings on his fingers blazed in the light, so it looked as though he was wielding fire when he gestured at the crowd for silence. It fell instantly.

King Sin-mar-Entama spoke well. He always had. The soldiers loved him, not because he let them to victory, but because of what he promised after.

"All of you have proven yourselves on the fields of glory," he proclaimed, his voice ringing with power. "You warriors, lion-hearted all, have earned a place in the god's own paradise! I shall lead you all there myself!"

The cheers rang out all over the city, but Entama did not look at his jubilant soldiers. He was smiling directly at Ashur himself.

Ashur dismounted. The path of the broken banners of his enemies led him up the steps of the palace and into the great Hall, past the assembled court to the very foot of the throne, where Ashur knelt so that the priests could put his collar around his neck.

Entama entered the hall more slowly. Ashur knew it wasn't the soldiers he had lingered for, although he was everything to them: no, he took his time because he liked the anticipation. He liked to see Ashur, still in the armor he wore in the field, chained to the foot of his throne.

The priests began to take off Ashur's armor and cleanse him, and Entama liked to see that, too. There was a new scar on Ashur's body, running just below his collarbone, and Ashur could see Entama's expression darken at the sight of it.

He was naked finally, and the priests had wiped the dust and sweat of the road from his skin. Ashur knelt again, spreading his legs apart to give the priests access to his hole. He felt slick fingers invade him, holding him open, and then the cool touch of a small ceramic carafe. The oil was poured into him, and it was immediately all Ashur could do to keep it all from sliding back out. He could feel it leaking out nonetheless, making him wet all over, like some temple prostitute.

Entama reached his throne at last. He had undone his robe, and was naked underneath.

"Ashur-na," said the king fondly. "You have done well."

Ashur prostrated himself before him.

"As I belong to you, so too does the victory belong to you," he said, the ritual words well-practiced in his mouth.

"And how shall you prove how you belong to me?" asked Entama. Ashur could hear the smile in his voice.

"By giving you dominion over my body, to use as you will. Your seed shall spill within me, and I shall be as an extension of your victorious hand."

The ritual was the basis of his military rank. It was why the soldiers followed him, and why the gods of battle seemed to favor him. The armies would turn to chaos without it, and his soldiers, his brave, faithful soldiers, would lose hope. It was necessary, and good, and normal. It was something they had done so many times that Ashur could not remember when he had begun to hate it.

"Very good," said Entama, and Ashur felt his hand gripping his braids tightly, pulling him up to his knees. The king's cock was forced between his lips, thick and salty and rigid in his mouth, and Ashur forced himself to relax, to open his mouth further. The king's hands were on either side of his face, wrapping around him. Ashur couldn't even turn his head from side to side. He could only go along with the movement as Entama fucked into his mouth, thrusting blindly. Ashur could feel Entama's cock brushing against the back of his throat, making him swallow convulsively; Entama threw back his head and groaned with pleasure.

It was a good omen if the king took great pleasure in his general. There had been nothing but good omens since Ashur had become general.

He was utterly unable to breathe, the king’s cock filling his throat completely, the rough thrusts coming too fast for Ashur to take in enough air. Ashur kept his hands at his sides. Entama would not do this forever; he was too hungry for Ashur’s body, and it had been years since he had made Ashur pass out. So he told himself, but there was a small, blasphemous voice in his head whispering that he was stronger than Entama was, that he could refuse, even fight back…

Ashur choked the voice into silence, and endured. A moment later, Entama forced Ashur's head back. His cock fell from Ashur's mouth with a wet sound. Ashur panted for breath while Entama stared at him. Every time he returned to the city, he grew more and more unnerved by the look in his king's eye. He was growing afraid that one day, he would not be allowed to leave at all.

Whatever Entama had been waiting for, he seemed to see it in Ashur's face. His hands tightened around his head just before he threw Ashur roughly to the ground.

Ashur caught himself on his hands, the chain jangling at it hit the floor, and forced himself not to get back up. The court was murmuring excitedly to each other now. The main part of the ritual was about to begin.

The oil had been leaking steadily out of his ass the whole while, and his thighs were drenched. Ashur could feel more dripping down, pooling in the crook of his knee. He stayed on all fours, looking only at the stone mosaic beneath his hands and knees. Jasper, onyx, jade, mother-of-pearl, surrounded by an ocean of lapis lazuli. It was the world, created in miniature in precious jewels. From his place on the throne, Entama could see the world at his feet, just as his cousins the gods could. Later, when the ritual was finished, the court artisans would add a garnet for the city he had just conquered. Ashur could see the constellation of his victories spread out below him, like a spray of blood. He had conquered half the map for Entama, and he was rewarded, every time, in the same way. Ashur felt hands around his hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

Entama thrust into him with enough force to make him see stars. Ashur could not hold back a groan. His cock, already half-hard from the sensation of the warm oil inside him, stiffened quickly. Entama moved inside of him, cracking him open, pushing so far inside him that Ashur thought he might break apart. He was panting open-mouthed. It felt so good to be speared like this, to be filled with a cock, to be pounded and rutted with. His hands slipped, and he fell down to his elbows. The new angle made Entama’s thrusts deeper, and they rubbed against him in a way that made his body shake. Ashur moaned before he could stop himself. He sounded like one of the whores in the temple district. His body clenched down around the cock in his ass, hungry for more; his body didn’t care about the court, staring avidly, some of them not-so-discreetly stroking themselves, his body didn’t care about the look in Entama’s eyes, or the voice in his head that wanted to say _no_. Entama’s hands tightened on his hips, and his thrusts became rougher, wilder. Ashur lowered his head to the floor in full submission, panting helplessly against the cool mosaic stone.

It was Entama’s right, after all, to do this to him. He was the king, and that made him holy. Ashur was the king’s general, and so what passed between them was not only righteous, but sacred. His hands scrabbled against the mosaic, fingernails scraping against topaz and turquoise. He made himself breathe, counting seconds for each inhale and exhale. Entama’s hands slid down to squeeze his waist. Ashur could feel his weight bearing down on him. Entama's chest was heavy against his back. The king was panting, nearly snarling; Ashur could feel his hot breath stirring his hair. This close, the sounds he made sounded almost like words too incoherent to understand.

Ashur kept staring at the map below him. The precious stones glittered like a sea of eyes. He remembered the first time he had approached the royal dais, as a much younger man. He had fought and won seven duels in a single day, a legendary feat, and the king had said--

Entama thrust into him again, harder than before, and the sudden rush of pleasure drove all thoughts of the past out of his head. It felt far too good. Ashur couldn't stand it. The stretch and the burn were too much for him: every thrust reignited that incredible pleasure, his body reacting of his own accord. Ashur could not take it any longer. The king thrust into him, driving deep, all the way down to the hilt. Ashur let out a low cry and came all over the mosaic tile.

Entama made a deep, rasping sound of satisfaction. His breath in Ashur's ear was frantic. Ashur felt it, when Entama released his seed inside him; a hot wet gush that told him that the gods were satisfied. But Entama kept going, fucking Ashur through his own come, his cock barely softening before it stiffened again. His hands roamed greedily over Ashur's chest, pulling at his hair, wrapping around his waist. Ashur felt his king's mouth on him, too, biting at his neck, just above the collar. All the while Entama continued to thrust relentlessly. Ashur could do nothing to react, even if he had been permitted. He was bone-tired, aroused to the point that every new shock of pressure was overwhelming to the senses. He could only remain prostrate on the floor, letting his king use him as he willed. As the gods willed. 

Entama came with a groan and collapsed over Ashur's shoulders. For a moment he did not move, and Ashur had to push down a deep well of fear that he would keep going, that the ritual would never end. And then Entama got up, slowly, his cock withdrawing from Ashur's hole with a wet sound. Entama jerked on the chain, forcing Ashur to turn around and present his hole to the court. The come dripping out of it was proof that the ritual was complete.

The court cheered. There was general movement in the crowd, one of the priests giving a gesture of permission. Some of the men who had been stroking themselves were permitted to approach the dais, to add their strength to that of the king's, and have a part in blessing the next victory. Ashur felt their ejaculate spray over his sore and raw ass. He didn't look to see who they were.

He withstood it with patience. This would be over soon, and it was better than what was to follow.

By the time every man so inclined was spent and satisfied, Ashur was striped in come, his back and legs entirely covered. Two of the priests bade him stand, and unhooked his chain from the foot of the throne.

They led him down the hallway behind the throne, leading him inexorably to the king's bedchamber. Ashur was still naked, dripping come and oil with every step.

“Set him on the bed,” said Entama. He watched, breathing shallowly, until the priests had arranged Ashur to his liking. They left at a single gesture from him, taking the chain with them. The collar would remain around Ashur’s neck until he was once again loosed for battle.

“My Ashur-na,” said Entama tenderly.

No words were required from him outside the ritual, and Ashur provided none. He remained in the pose that the priests had left him in, bent over the edge of the bed, his sore and swollen hole exposed. He didn’t move, even when Entama approached him with a soft cloth and began to wipe him clean.

“You were so good for me tonight,” he said. His cloth moved in between Ashur’s thighs, up between his cheeks, brushing lightly over his hole. “So tight, so perfect, so beautiful. So, so good to me. As you always are.”

Ashur breathed until he could be calm.

"I am your loyal general," he said. He could feel his king’s hands on him, rubbing and groping and stroking, forcing arousal again out of his tired body. Entama was always fervent to see his victorious general return. It would be a long night. That treacherous voice was back, whispering unholy thoughts.

He let Entama flip him over, crawl over him on the bed. He let Entama kiss him and stroke his face as if he were a lover. 

In the back of his head he wondered if the next city he conquered would have to be his own.


End file.
